Comfort Zone
by JennaGill
Summary: She was so far outside of her comfort zone, she needed a different zip code. Katniss sees her public speaking instructor outside of class. Written for Prompts in Panem. Round 3, Day 3: Modern Locations. Visual Prompt: Bar


"Crapbag," she mutters under her breath.

"What is it, Catnip?" Gale inquires.

"It's my instructor for that public speaking course I'm taking through Heavensbee & Flickerman," she admits and takes a sip from her mug.

"That's a mouthful," he offers as he takes a swig of beer.

"I know, right?"

"So why are you taking this class?" he probes.

"I'm trying to drum up support to save the meadow and that will require public speaking, which I suck at." There's so much more to it than that, but Gale knows this. He was raised on trips to the Meadow just as she was and neither of them wants to see it become apartments. District City has grown up around it though and it's up for consideration on the town council agenda.

"And seeing the instructor in a bar is bad… why, exactly?" Gale asks.

It's a valid question. She'd overheard the other students talking about getting together after class after the first couple weeks; she just never imagined seeing him outside of class. It was only an eight week course and they were about halfway through.

"He's such a goody-goody, what's he doing here?"

They are sitting in a booth near the back of the bar, but Peeta stands out with his thick blond hair and fitted white button down in the front. Minutes ago, he picked up a pitcher of beer and took it back to the shuffleboard table. He has yet to spot her and she wants to keep it that way.

Gale spits out his beer laughing, "Goody-goody? What are you, fourteen?"

She narrows her eyes at him and he recognizes her 'back off' look.

"Well, that's just right up your alley," he smirks after a minute. "At least you'll get to talk to people about nature and stuff you like rather than boring data analysis."

He's right, of course. She's much more comfortable speaking about a topic she's familiar with and has a great passion for, unlike the stuff they are using for class.

On the first day, they had to practice delivering really dry material with different voices. She stood before the class, tables arranged in a horseshoe shape, while Peeta called out a variety of characterizations. Peeta called it an ice breaker; she thought it was the third circle of Hell. She started reading from the page in monotone with, "_Einstein, who described himself as a socialist, became convinced…"_

"_Carnival announcer,_" Peeta cried.

"_That World War I was largely results of the scheming and incompetence of 'the ruling classes_,' a conclusion with which…" she boomed, her arms and hands gesturing widely.

"_Excited puppy,_" Peeta exclaimed.

"_… Many contemporary historians agree. He became a pacifist… Only his…_" she breathlessly wiggled and panted.

"_Sportscaster!_" Peeta shouted.

"_…Swiss citizenship prevented him from being imprisoned,_" she called out with as much enthusiastic pitch as she could muster.

She shuddered at the memory. She was so outside of her comfort zone, she needed to be in a different zip code. She could feel all eyes in the classroom on her, but the instructor's most of all. He kept nodding at her like a bobble head doll with what she presumed was an encouraging smile, but she just wanted it to be over. She received a round of applause from the class and then it was someone else's turn with the wheel of personalities.

Gale changed the topic, but her eyes kept flitting over to Peeta. He had been playing shuffleboard with a group of what appeared to be friends, and not students. She and the rest of the class had made such idiots of themselves that first day and through a few other subsequent exercises. Did he remember her? Did she stand out as the worst? Her fear of talking in front of crowds was crippling. She didn't even like to raise her voice. Acting out had made her feel so foolish.

"Uh, hello… Earth to Katniss?" Gale joked. He turned to catch what she was so fixated on and saw another opportunity to get a rise out of her. "Why don't you just go talk to him if you're going to stare at him all night?"

She scowled at him in response, "Oh shit, he's coming this way."

"Well, alright then. I'll make it easy for you and fetch us some more beers," he suggests as he finishes his draught.

Peeta must have been on his way to the restroom but he notices Gale's exit from the booth and their eyes meet. He diverts over to her table. He smiles, though she doesn't when she rises to greet him.

"Hey, Katniss. It's nice to see you out and about," Peeta offers.

At first she didn't like being on a first name basis with the instructor and fellow students, but it was inevitable with weekly speaking assignments. Everyone else was opening up about their jobs, partners, and kids. Peeta had been the first to go with a short bio and his teaching qualifications. He was actually only a few years older than her, so calling him Mr. Mellark felt weird. She did it anyway.

"Mr. Mellark," she blurted out. "Slumming it, here at Rip's? Or did you just come for the happy hour specials?" she laughs nervously, trying to soften her blunt words.

"Not at all, and please, call me Peeta." He motions his head back to the table. "Have you ever played?"

She shakes her head and scans the bar for any sight of Gale. She could feel the anxiety creeping up on her. Tiny beads of sweat dotted her hairline. Damn him, he must be around the corner! She starts to fidget, but it's just Peeta, not a crowd of people. Why can't she pull her shit together?

"I don't have much luck with pucks," she offers, trying to dismiss him with a shrug.

He smiles impossibly wide at her terminology use, so much so that his eyes crinkle in the corners. "Maybe you haven't played before, but you've watched..?"

Her faces heats instantly at his grin. What did he just ask her? She shifts from foot to foot. Gale pops back from around the corner and gives her an out. "Yeah, my friend over there pushes them around now and then," she finally adds. "What about you?"

"I do okay. I've been playing since college. Little bit of a different challenge than darts or pool," he boasts.

"And do you like challenges?" she counters while looking up at him. She wonders if his eyes have always been this blue.

His eyes turn a shade darker when he responds, "Of course, I love a challenge."

She lets out a breath she hadn't realized she'd been holding in and holds his gaze for a beat. Some movement in her peripheral vision distracts her and the moment is gone.

"If you two wanted to team up and play, it would be fun," Peeta ventures as he retreats.

"Yeah, thanks, but it sounds like you'd win," she says, trying to follow up with another weak smile.

Gale heads back towards their booth, carrying two beers. He takes his sweet time, annoying her to no end. As he walks back grinning like a fool, she realizes he'd been chatting up the bartender.

Peeta introduces himself to Gale and extends the same invitation for a friendly game just before excusing himself.

Her face still feels hot over the encounter, a detail that doesn't go unnoticed.

"What is it with him? He seems nice enough. Do you want a piece of that?"

She guffaws, "What? No! I just feel awkward and foolish after the last class when I had to act like a goat."

"A goat?" he queries.

"Yes, a goat. I had to talk about Sigmund Freud while braying like a goat during last week's class. Dammit, can we move on?"

"Well, if it's that big of a deal, then yes. But if you want, I can tell you something that's helped me before."

She tilts her head in interest; class is tomorrow, after all. The next assignment for week four is to give a five minute talk on any subject. She needs to open big, hit her three main points, and close by asking for the first question. She'd been practicing in her bathroom mirror, extending her arms out into the W formation, wearing her 'warm face mask,' and projecting her voice. It did not help though. In the last few presentations, she had always tanked. As soon as she stood in front of the class, her voice shrank down, her elbows locked at her sides, and she began to wring her wrists. All of her brilliant and poetic words were left on the page and she stumbled her way through the exercise.

Maybe she could use a boost after all.

"I like to picture my audience naked."

She snorts, "Gale, when do you not picture women naked?"

"No, no… the guys, too. And not in a sexual way. I just picture them as their most vulnerable selves. They are people, too, and it helps me talk to them. You should try it."

"I'll think about it."

"You should definitely try visualizing your teacher naked," he snickers.

"Gale!" she sighs, exasperated.

They call it a night not too long after that and she hadn't seen Peeta come back through the bar. She doesn't think much of it though and realizes she'll see him tomorrow anyway.

She cycles through her talk before bed, trying to memorize the words. She sleeps fitfully; her dreams mix and meld her notes with a naked audience. She wakes up flustered and scrambles to get ready for her day. Class is at 5pm and is close enough to her office, but she still has to work through lunches on class days. Her anxiety levels were running high after her encounter at Rip's Bar and she didn't feel much like eating anyway. She momentarily speculates whether she'll see Peeta there again, and whether she'll ever accept his game challenge. Her rumbling stomach brings her back into focus, but she still ignores her bowl of canned soup.

When class time rolled around, she checked her appearance in the ladies room right before she was due in her seat. She smoothed down her flyaways, curling her dark braid around her shoulder. She hopes she can go earlier rather than later and just get this over with.

The odds were not in her favor. As luck would have it, she is the last to go tonight. She's seen everyone else make improvements from the last class and it makes her all the more nervous.

She stands before them, blinking her gray eyes slowly, and in her mind sees them all seated and unclothed. Peeta is standing at the back of the room today when he usually sits to the side, so she's getting an imaginary full frontal view. It's working, she thinks. She takes a deep breath and begins.

"Ladies and gentlemen, citizens of Panem County, and residents of District City, have you ever been to the Harvest Meadow? It's called that because people long ago used it as a gathering site for food and flowers." She stays on pace, works the room, and is projecting her voice. Peeta starts nodding his head again, so she focuses on him while she talks, picturing him in more detail. It's fantastic in her mind. He probably has tufts of blond hair on his chest. Firm pecs. Tight abs. A trail of blond hair leading down… where was she? Oh yeah. "The meadow is home to many bugs and bunnies (boobs and boners), among other organisms (orgasms) across the fertile plain." Oh, no…

Peeta's naked body and her speech are beginning to blur. She feels her palms start to sweat and the tint rise in her cheeks.

"The public (pubic) needs to take a stand against this construction (erection). The city needs this green (groin) space…" The words on her page and in her mind are rapidly interchanging. "We need to work together to crumble these walls (balls)."

She reaches the end before any of the gutter words pinging around in her head can escape her mouth. She smiles warmly.

"Now who has the first position?" she asks the class before realizing her slip. Her eyes widen while still intent on Peeta.

He quirks up his lips to one side, "I do."

_Oh. Shit._


End file.
